


Most Dear

by Elianara



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Frottage, Mary Ships It, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elianara/pseuds/Elianara
Summary: 'Watson, you are addicted to a certain way of life. You’re abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people ... is it truly such a surprise that the woman you’ve fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?'A Victorian au in which Mrs Watson decides she wants Sherlock Holmes in the marital bed, Dr Watson is only too happy to oblige.





	Most Dear

**Author's Note:**

> This sits roughly in the universe of TAB. Polyamory without plot. You're welcome.
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing first person - all constructive criticism welcome.

First I should say I have had my doubts whether the matter I am about to describe should be committed to paper at all. It is not that I feel any shame for what has passed, I only worry about  scandal affecting those who are most dear to me.

It began as an average evening, an average evening for us in any case. Holmes and I found ourselves, along with Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, travelling around gambling dens and brothels. Not the low places that are frequented by the criminal classes in stinking lanes , rather the sort that are hidden behind a velvet curtain in a respectable house . The sort that cater to the vices of the wayward gentry.

The son of a duke, missing for several days, was found in one such place. Reluctant to return to the strictures of his father's house to say nothing of being roaring drunk he came at us with a poker from the fireplace. Holmes, with his great skill in fencing, disarmed the boy with another but not before receiving a deep, jagged cut to the forearm, dirty with soot.

Knowing Holmes lack of care for his person and wary of infection I asked the cab to take us to my house when we were left the boy in the care of Scotland Yard. I had Holmes remove jacket and shirt to allow me to clean the wound. I knelt on the floor in front of Holmes where he sat by the parlour fire to clean and bandage as he partook of my brandy.

‘Doctors never can bandage properly.’ Mary's voice came soft from the doorway.

‘Sorry to wake you my love.’

‘The fault is mine Mrs Watson as ever.’ Holmes said graciously.

'Not at all Mr Holmes. As we both know my husband would rot from boredom without you. I only wish you would let me come along sometimes.'

'I hardly think my dear you would care for the places we have had to go this evening.' I said, a tad dismissively I'm afraid.

'Nonsense Watson. I'm sure Mrs Watson would have been quite at home this evening.' Holmes smiled as he looked down at me. He waved away my look of distress. 'I only mean that your wife's wit and intelligence and charm would carry her anywhere.

'Thank you Mr Holmes. Do let me take over John, that will not last the cab ride home.’

‘Holmes isn't dressed, he isn't even wearing a shirt…' I protested.

It would very difficult to bandage a wound to the arm if he were my dear. You forget the years I nursed John, it would not matter if he were naked. He has nothing I've not seen a hundred times before.' Mary crossed the room and took the strips of linen from my hands. She was correct of course.

There was nothing for me to do but sit by the dying fire with my own brandy and let my wife get on with the task. She was undoubtedly more skilled.

It occurred to me then, as I watched, that she too was barely dressed. Her hair fell in a loose braid and her nightgown was rolled to the elbows while she worked. I knew she would be bare underneath, indeed the swell of her breasts was accentuated in shadow cast from the lamp.

Quite unexpectedly it put me in mind of when I still shared rooms with Holmes. The detective standing by the window, playing his violin in his nightshirt. The sun (it must have been morning) making shadows with the angles of his body as he played. His shape was of course different from my wife but no less...My reverie stuttered and I realised both Mary and Holmes were looking at me. Holmes in the chair, now puffing on his pipe while my wife still knelt on the floor in front of him, though the bandage was done. They exchanged a glance, as if conspiring, and I at once felt exposed.

Mary stood and crossed the floor to my chair sitting on the arm and sliding a hand around my shoulders. The gesture had me stiffening, in more than one sense. It was her habit, in the hour or so after the maid had gone to bed, to initiate intimate relations this way. Normally she would slide into my lap. Murmuring about the embarrassment of the innocent maid finding us like this, my cockstand all too obvious and her pulling her nightgown up her thighs, pressing my fingers to where she was warm and slick to receive me . She knew, seemingly by instinct, that the possibility of being seen aroused me. Perhaps it was too long in the army. As it was her attention, and frankly mine, was drawn to Holmes.

'Is it not a shame my darling that Mr Holmes must cover his fine long neck everyday with a collar?.' My wife looked over at Holmes. Eyes raking over him in a manner quite unbecoming for a married woman I'm sure and yet...I could not blame her. I had allowed myself the same thought. It was the first time I had seen him without a collar, or in fact a jacket, for some time. 

'Thank you Mrs Watson. The same could be said of the female form. Comely as you are in the day your figure out of corsets has a _lushness_.' The word rolled in his mouth.'This society Watson' Holmes continued softly. 'We tie women in such knots.'

I opened my mouth to respond, to tell Holmes this was just too much. To insist he apologise to my wife and then leave my house. What I in fact did was stayed silent. Holmes puffed his pipe, a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. The one I know from the days he all too easily persuades me into some rash or dangerous course of action. The smile that says _I have you Watson._

'I have always known John, always. I see the way you look at him. I've always seen the way you look at him.' Mary's voice was close to my ear. In that second it was her generosity that struck me as much as anything. 'I sometimes look at him the same way.' 

What Mary seemed to be suggesting and Holmes silently agreeing with was unmentionable, almost unthinkable and yet, at that moment  
, seemed entirely natural. A comfortable step from where we currently stood. I love my wife, I love Holmes. I can acknowledge, to myself, that my feelings for Holmes have not always been platonic. I could see that both these people have an affection for each other.

'This is...if we were discovered I...'  
I began, doubtless sounding rather dazed. This, if I may be indelicate, may have been an effect of my blood rushing to my nether regions.

'Why would we be discovered? This is the private home of a respected doctor? Watson we have transgressed in more exposed places.' Holmes raised an eyebrow at me.

'As have we John.' Mary breathed in my ear.

I knew what she referred to. Not long after we were married we were coming home from the theatre. We were new to married life and had got rather carried away during the tedious performance, shielded as we were in an otherwise empty, dark row at the back. Afterwards home just seemed too far away and Mary dragged me into an alley. Lifting her skirts like a common prostitute as I took her against the wall. Risky, scandalous of course but what they seemed to be hinting at was something else. Something I'd only heard of before in some of the pricier brothels of the empire. I knew my wife has a certain adventurousness but this was...

Holmes smiled again around the stem of his pipe, reading my mind as usual.

'Watson, you are addicted to a certain way of life. You’re abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people ... is it truly such a surprise that the woman you’ve fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?

'But she wasn’t supposed to be...'

'Nonsense Watson.' He looked over my head at Mary who leant in to kiss me. It should be understood that there are kisses and there are kisses. This was the sort that happens between wife and husband in private. The sort that, if you will excuse a soldier's coarse language, makes a mans heart beat faster and his prick stiff. I was not the only one. Holmes is vainer than his his serious demeanor would suggest, proud of his slim physique. He has worn narrow fitting trousers for as long as I have known him regardless of practicality or fashion. A distinct bulge was visible in his lap. A distinct bulge that my wife had noticed too.

'Perhaps gentleman now would be an opportune moment to move upstairs, the maid has gone for the night but I'm sure we could be more comfortable.' Mary said rising from the arm of the chair.

'Yes quite so.' Holmes stood, brushing off his trousers. They were both acting as if we were retiring to a drawing room after a formal dinner. Looking at us the absurdity of male arousal was obvious. My wife's condition made her luminously beautiful while Holmes and I were stuck with awkward protrusions.

'Before we do though, kiss the man John.' Holmes and I were standing, inches apart in front of the fire. Mary's tone was impatient but her look kind. She nodded in encouragement as I hesitated. My hand mover to caress the angle of his face. Sharp bone, soft skin, the beginning of rough beard. He leant down to meet me, his carefully tamed hair falling g loose across my hand as I tasted him. Tobacco and brandy, danger and comfort. He lacked recent experience, I could tell by the way he tensed as I slid my tongue into his mouth. It was Sherlock Holmes though and he quickly followed my lead,exploring my mouth and sliding hands down my body in a way that had me dizzy.

'Enough for now I think.' Mary said, stopping me, with a gentle hand on the shoulder just as I began to knead the plushness that is Sherlock Holmes arse. She gestured in the direction of our bedroom. Confidence is one of the things I love about my wife and she boldly led the way while Sherlock took me by the hand. The door had not yet closed behind us before she pulled her nightgown over her head, kicking off her slippers.

'Now, Mr Holmes. I should tell you I intend to watch you and my husband this evening but first you can give us an insight into your deductive processes. Tell me through what I like.'

Sherlock looked at her, warmth cutting through his usual analytical gaze. 'Well, you have disrobed so nothing overly seductive, romantic. You're a married woman, obviously, so I will assume penetration is not appropriate..'

'Indeed, were any Watson children to have your bone structure-pretty as it is- people really would talk.' I quipped nervously.

'May I?' Holmes took Mary's braid in hand and she nodded. 'I have often observed Watson stroke your hair in private domestic moments. It is affectionate of course but I suspect also a promise of something. He slid his long fingers through her hair tightening them slightly as he leaned in to kiss her open mouth. His beautiful lips parting wetly. Holmes,the cold logician, so beloved to the readers of The Strand magazine melted before my eyes.

Mary pulled back, eyes bright. 'Harder.' She breathed.

Holmes smiled, pleased with himself. 'I thought so but didn't like to assume.' He tightened his grip a little beginning to work his mouth along her jaw and neck. Walking her carefully back towards the bed he laid her down. Mary held out her hand for me to join them as Holmes began to kiss along her jaw and throat.

I lay on my side, head propped in my hand. I found my other hand pressing against my own arousal. The sight, the sound, the scent of the two people I hold most dear taking pleasure in each other was arrestingly erotic.

Holmes, as ever, was like a hound on the scent as he moved mouth and hands over my wife's body. I was aware that other husbands would given him a bloody nose, or worse, for this but no jealously entered my head as I watched them. His technique in caressing Mary's breasts was different from mine. Greedier would be the word. His mouth devouring them like a man starved. Which I suppose, in this area of life, he was. I increased the pressure of my hand in my own lap.

'For goodness sake John, strip off.' Mary was looking, amused, at me. Holmes face buried now in her belly and heading ever southwards.  
'I'm sure we'd both like to see you touch yourself but do not finish. I want you two to finish together.' She exchanged a glance with the face now at the apex of her thighs.

I wasted no time in stripping and it was only after I had slid back on to the bed that I realised, Sherlock had never seen me naked before. There had of course been times, in my bachelor days, when he'd seen me shirtless and if I noticed his subtle glances I perhaps put them down to some reflexive professional interest in my battle scars. Now though his look was unmistakable, undiluted lust.

'You do rather well Mrs Watson.' He said, eyes glued to my member, his voice dry.

'Don't I just.' Mary replied looking in the same direction proudly.  
I should explain I am above average size. The visual effect increased, I'm sure, by my slight stature. Lovers female and male (I think we are beyond the point of coyness about this) have expressed special delight in it over the years. I could see Holmes would be one of those as is my wife but Holmes is nothing if not a gentleman. His attention was now fully back on Mary.

My wife has always been particularly vocal and I was doubly glad the maid was away for the night as she began to cry out my friend's (very distinctive) name.  There was an upward shift to her hips and she was flushed a pretty pink, all of which told me she was close to her peak. Her hands were deep in his hair, pulling it loose into riotous curls. I realised with an odd sort of pang I had not seen his hair this way since we lived together. They were both beautiful.

I moved as close as I could, languidly palming myself and appreciating the occasional glances they threw my way. 'Use your fingers too.' I whispered roughly at Holmes ear, continuing to touch myself. 'She likes something inside her when she finishes.'

'I'm sure she does.' Sherlock broke away from Mary for a second to reply, dropping his eyes to look at where my hand was in motion on my own flesh, I confess I was leaking with excitement. Holmes brushed two of his long fingers against my lips. I took his meaning, sliding my mouth along them wetly.

'I have so many plans for you gentlemen.' Mary said breathlessly obviously delighted at the way I was enthusiastically suckling Holmes fingers, imagining how a very different part of him would feel and taste. He withdrew his hand from me and with a glance bade me watch as he gently slid his fingers inside Mary, beginning to again use his mouth on her. He had pulled one of her legs over his shoulder so I could see.

He knew, of course he did, that watching, being watched, increased the pleasure for both of us. It wasn't long before I saw the involuntary flexing of hands and feet and heard the foul language (my wife, to my constant amusement knows words that would make a sailor blush) that signalled the height of her pleasure. Holmes pulled away, pleased with himself as he fastidiously wiped his mouth on a clean handkerchief from his pocket. He was more than a little surprised when Mary pulled us both in close beside her on the bed. I had stopped touching myself by this point as I feared I was too close. I was beside myself with anticipation at the idea of Sherlock and I together.

'You're a little overdressed Sherlock.' She said, stroking his hair and smiling at me mischievously. He had little to take off having left boots, jacket and shirt downstairs. He was soon standing before us naked and uncharacteristically bashful. 

Mary withdrew a little, propping herself in the pillows to see us as I stood to kiss him again, knowing he would have moustache rash tomorrow and wondering how he'd explain it to Lestrade.

I took his hand and pulled him onto the bed beside me. His skin shivered under my touch as I stroked down his sternum and laid my palm flat to feel his racing heart. I moved to slot naturally between his legs, feeling his belly quiver as I brushed against him. The skin had an innocent softness, I wanted to feel it sticky with my seed. The notion is a crude one I know but the way he gasped and held me as our pricks pressed together- I know he felt the same and Mary -well-she looked like the proverbial cat who'd got the cream.

Holmes, silent but with eyes eager, took us both in hand. A large slim delicate hand whose touch I had imagined for too long. My own hand closed around his and we began a slow movement hands and hips moving together as we held onto each other.

Mary looked on entranced. I noticed, as I'm sure I was supposed to, that she had slipped a hand between her legs. As a doctor I have often noted the irony that a wife's pleasure in marital relations is little thought of but available to her so much more often than her husband can ejaculate. Also, while we have digressed to my medical experience, I have known of male patients whose intimate interests extend to their own sex. Some of them had wives who were fully aware of how their husbands spent their spare time and turned a blind eye. I know I could never have been that sort of husband to Mary, or, frankly, that sort of lover to Holmes. I was intensely grateful for them both in that moment-and always.

'Perhaps...' Mary reached across with her free hand to the bedside table to pick up a bottle. 'A few drops would smooth things along.'

Holmes held out his hand and she poured an amount of oil out. I raised an eyebrow at my wife.

'It brightens the complexion ' She said defensively. I can't comment on its qualities as a skin tonic but as an aid to pleasure between gentlemen it was excellent.

 'Sherlock...' A rare use of his first name but I felt the need to warn him. Holmes is a creature of such cool self control, such reserve, that to feel him move under you chasing his pleasure, lost to passion is such a privilege.

'I want to feel you John, on me.' The voice was a breathy, rough version of Sherlock's, barely recognisable. It can only have been the matter of a few seconds till his pale belly was streaked with my seed, his own prick enthusiastically adding to the mess as I watched. My wife shamelessly finishing herself beside us. It was glorious.

Sweat and semen cooled on our skin for a few moments. Shy glances, smiles and finally outright giggling broke out as the mess was wiped away.

Then we slept. For me a heavy deep comfortable sleep that shouldn't have been possible sharing our modest bed with Sherlock's long limbs. I awoke at dawn, a soldiers habit. I would have thought, at my age, and after the exertions of a few hours previous a dawn cockstand would have been beyond me but there it was. I was not the only one awake, or who had noticed it. Mary was smiling at me. Our eyes meeting over the lovely curve of Sherlock's rump.

She clambered over Sherlock, gentle with his sleeping form to lie curled against me.

'Thank you.' I whispered.

'No. Thank you.' She replied with a practiced, almose absent minded, stroke along my length. 'He was quite something-not that you alone are less than wonderful.'

'I could say the same.' I meant it. Mary's sentiment word for word. We naturally shifted around until she was underneath me and I could slide inside her. Both of us instinctively quiet and in no rush. We kissed for few moments and when we broke apart to breathe Sherlock was awake, watching us. His face soft, affectionate, perhaps a little embarassed. Again, not at all the man of my stories.

'Perhaps now would be an opportune moment for me to retire to your bachelor quarters.' He said, croaky with sleep.

'No, stay.' Mary said reaching out a hand to him. 'It would be cruel to invite you into our bed then send you away as if shamed at first light. Besides.' She glanced at me impishly. 'I like you to watch. You're imagining, arent you, how John would feel if he were inside you. You should feel free to touch yourself.'

I could tell from the flush that spread across Sherlock's usually porcelain pale skin that he had been imagining just that. Mary pulled his head across to kiss us both in turn. It should be mentioned that all this was said while I was still inside Mary. What can I say, a life with Holmes (or Mary) has never been in danger of being conventional. I need hardly describe what happened next except to say that it was intensely intimate, perfect.

We lay for a long time afterwards in a sort of daze, simply enjoying the tangle of warm limbs. It was only the lightening room and the increase in noise from the street outside that suggested I should look at my watch and I was alarmed to discover we had only half an hour till the maid was due back. The cook would already be preparing breakfast downstairs.

Sherlock kissed us both, gently, shyly, before rushing off on silent feet to make the bachelor quarters look lived in and himself presentable. Mary and I hurried about grinning at each other as we washed and dressed. My wife had the unenviable task of going to tell the cook there would be one more for breakfast. I am not sure I could have done so without my expression giving us away.

At table I struggled to make conversation. Holmes however had no problem. Regaling us with the details of a case he had solved, by correspondence no less, for the Parisian police. He seemed more at ease than I had known him of late and he breakfasted with gusto.

As he finished and was about to take his leave his face tensed and I realised that Mary was touching him under the table, given their relative positions it must have been with her foot.

'I wonder Mr Holmes if you would care to join us at a violin recital on Thursday. I know you enjoy music and of course,' She turned to me with a wicked glance, fortunately the maid was staring absently out of the window. 'It would be much easier for you to stay with us here afterwards.'

'I would be delighted Mrs Watson.' He replied, long fingers squeezing my thigh under the table.


End file.
